


Drunk Girl

by claitynroberts



Series: Drunk Girl [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, NOLA, New Orleans, Running Away, Strong Language, alcohol use, cheating mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 03:20:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15063932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claitynroberts/pseuds/claitynroberts
Summary: After her relationship goes up in smoke, Claityn pack’s her things and takes off. Driving aimlessly she winds up in New Orleans, LA, and right in the middle of Dean Winchester’s path.





	Drunk Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Written for babypieandwhiskey’s “Always Keep Fighting Challenge” on Tumblr
> 
> Inspired by:  
> Rearview Town—Jason Aldean  
> Kiss Somebody—Morgan Evans  
> Drunk Girl—Chris Janson

My eyes were strained by the bright lights, lack of sleep, and the onslaught of rain pounding my windshield. Somewhere near hour nine of my impromptu road trip, I pulled over to take a quick breather. The lights from the roadside rest stop shone through my windshield as memories pervaded my thoughts, keeping me from finding the rest I so desperately sought. After tossing and turning through my light doze, I decided to keep trekking; letting the thrum of the tires on the interstate and the soft rock on the radio lull me into a semi-conscious state.

It had officially been two days since I grabbed my things and ran, leaving the small podunk town I used to call home in the dust. Nothing was left for me there. Why bother toughing it out, rising above the gossip and hatred, when I could find somewhere new to be? Fuck them all. If he was going to turn his back on me, and take the whole town with him, then there’s no sense in sticking around.

When I left I had no earthly idea where I was going. I just knew I had to get as far away as possible. I glanced around looking for an indicator of where I could possibly be. Fifteen miles to New Orleans, a sign said. Whoa. I didn’t know I had made it that far. Looking at the clock on the dash I realized it was getting late, and needing to stretch my tired, cramped muscles I took the New Orleans exit. A few minutes later the city’s welcome sign appeared, “Laissez les bon temps rouler.” Let the good times roll...I can only hope.

Pulling into one of the least seedy motels I could find in this city, I acquired a room for the next couple days and decided to go for a walk. I meandered down the sidewalks, taking in the sights and listening to the jazz music that seemed to effortlessly flow between the performers camped out on the streets. As I was wandering the French Quarter, I came upon a small bar. It was nondescript for the most part, but the beautiful mix of jazz and classic rock spilling over the passers by from the open windows drew me in.  
The bar wasn’t very busy for a Friday night, just a handful of what seemed like regulars dotted around the room. Walking up to the bar, I claimed a stool at the worn bar-top, motioning toward the bartender for a beer. As the night wore on, I sat there peeling the labels on my beer bottles. By the time I hit number five, I lost count, and can only assume I’ve doubled the number by now. 

Somewhere in the background amid the mix of music and chatter from the other patrons, the door opened and closed. The stool a couple chairs away became occupied. I glanced toward the newcomer; he was tall, about six feet or so, and had broad shoulders. When he glanced my way I noticed he had some slight stubble and a smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. His eyes crinkled as his mouth pulled into a lopsided grin, raising his own beer in salute. I turned my eyes down and went back to stripping my beer bottle, caught up in my own thoughts.

A few minutes later the bartender sat a new bottle down in front of me, thanking him I exchanged the bottles and set in on the fresh one. “Something tells me you have a lot on your mind, gorgeous,” a gruff voice called over to me. It was deep, the tones sliding over me like fine silk, but raspy, too, as if he were perpetually sipping on a glass of whiskey. 

I looked over at him and narrowed my eyes, injecting as much disdain into my voice as possible, “if you only knew.” I took a swig of my beer and went back to my thoughts.  
Raising his eyebrow, he shot me a quizzical look and moved to the stool beside mine. “You want to get something off your chest?” He asked. “I’m a pretty good listener, and it may help to get an outsider’s point of view.”

I pursed my lips and looked at him again, his deep green eyes boring into mine. “Do you use that line on all the girls?” I asked derisively.  
“Just the ones that look like they need it.”

I snorted, nearly spitting my beer out on the worn wood. “I’ll pass, thanks.” 

“Alright, suit your—,” he started.

I cut him off. “It’s just...when did men become such assholes? No offense. But honestly, I don’t think I’ve met a decent one in quite a while...if ever.”

He cleared his throat, suppressing a smirk. “Well then…why don’t you tell me how you really feel, sweetheart,” he said as he took a sip of his beer. I rolled my eyes at him. “So...what’d he do?” He asked nonchalantly.

“Who?”

“The dude who apparently set the bar too low and gave us other guys a bad name.”

“He didn’t set the bar low, he was amazing actually.” I looked over at him. “But you don’t want to hear about all this,” I finished as I lifted the bottle to my lips.

“Try me.”

I cleared my throat, “Okay. Well he was really nice. He was sweet and thoughtful and caring; he made me feel beautiful when we were together. We dated each other for five years, you know?”

“Sounds like a putz,” the stranger replied.

“Well he was. A few days ago I came home late from work, nothing new; I had been working on a big project with my boss and we’d worked late a few times over the last few weeks.” My eyes teared up a little bit as I took a drink of my beer mask the hurt. “Keep in mind the man is forty years older than me, has a pot gut, and one eye. He is quite literally a cyclops. Well, long story short Tad accused me of cheating and turned the whole town against me. I couldn’t even go to the grocery store without someone whispering about me. A couple days ago I came back to our apartment to talk to him, only to find him in bed with my best friend.” I finished off my beer and called for another.

As the bartender set down yet another fresh beer, the stranger hummed in contemplation. “What’d you do next?” He asked.

“I screamed at him. I was so upset, and all he could come back with was ‘you’re fucking your boss, I can do what I want.’ Needless to say, he wasn’t the guy I thought he was. We were supposed to get married next month.” I paused, wiping the stray tears from cheek, and cleared my throat. “I grabbed the necessities and started driving. I’d check my phone to see if he called, just out of curiosity, but I chucked it off a bridge shortly after I got out of town.”

“Wow…” he began, “picking up like that and taking off…”

“I know, it’s stupid,” I interrupted.

“No! It takes balls to do that kid.” He replied. “I know too many people who have stayed in awful relationships just because they didn’t have the cojones to leave.”  
“Eh...I don’t know…” I began, my words slurring now. “You know, I was upset, but now? Now I’m just empty. Dumbfounded, really. I spent all this time planning and building a life with this guy, and the fact that it can all just be tossed out the window like yesterday’s beer bottles astounds me.” 

“Well sounds like if he let you go so easily, he was a dumbass. You’re beautiful, you’re strong, and you sound intelligent. That’s like the trifecta of ‘keeper’,” he responded beaming a wide smile at me. “Plus, what is it they say? The best way to get over somebody is to get under somebody new?” He asked, wiggling his eyebrows and giving me another smirk as he finished off his beer.

“I’m flattered but maybe some other time,” I replied. “I just drank somewhere in the realm of twelve-ish beers, and I think I need to lie down.” I dropped a fifty on the bar and stood up, nearly toppling over. 

“Whoa.” He said as he grabbed my elbow to help steady me. “Maybe I should walk you back,” he suggested, “just to make sure you get there alright. This city isn’t safe for a pretty girl like you at night. Especially in this condition.”

I looked up at him. He was so attractive, the way his eyes held concern for me, a stranger whom he’d never met before. I’m not sure if it was the beer talking, but he seemed like a trustworthy and upstanding guy. “You know…I think you’re right.” 

He paid his tab and we headed out into the night air, where Jazz greeted us from every direction and the air seemed full of new possibilities. After stumbling a few times, he put his arm around me for some much needed extra support. By the time we made it back to the Mystic Moon Motel it was late and my eyes were half-lidded with the alcohol induced drowsiness. As we walked up to my door, I noticed a sleek black impala a few spaces down. “Is that a sixty-seven,” I asked out loud as I fished my keys out of my pocket.

The stranger, confused for a moment, looked around. “Oh that impala? Yeah, looks like it. Real American classic if you ask me,” he replied as he took my keys and opened my motel room door.

“That was a good year,” I mumbled to myself, “and she’s one sexy car.” I stumbled into the room kicking my shoes off in the corner and peeling myself out of my leather jacket. I turned toward him looking up into his face. I raised up on my toes and planted a firm kiss on his lips. He was stunned for a moment, but quickly his hands found my jaw and he returned the kiss. Deepening it for a moment, before he broke away panting. “So are we going to do this or what?”

He blinked looking taken aback. “D-do what, exactly?” He asked motioning with his hands.

“You said the best way to get over somebody is to get under someone new. I just took that as an invitation…” I trailed off.

He gulped, and ran his hand over the back of his neck in a nervous movement. “I, uh…” he cleared his throat. “Listen, it’s not that I don’t want to.” He began. “I just don’t want you to do something you might regret tomorrow morning. Believe me, you’re gorgeous and I would count myself lucky to be with you in any way you would have me, but…”  
“There’s always a but.” I said as I flopped down on the bed. 

“I just don’t want to take advantage of this situation. You’re drunk and upset and I don’t want to make things any worse.” He replied calmly as he knelt down in front of me and took my hand.

“Thanks,” I replied sheepishly. “D-do you really think I’m gorgeous?” 

Chuckling, he smiled. “Stunning,” he said as he raised his hand to move my hair behind my ear. 

“Could you do me a favor?” I asked. “Could you stay until I fall asleep?”

He smiled softly, “of course.”

“Tell me about you,” I said as I nuzzled down into my pillow and he pulled the covers over the top of me. 

“Well I have a brother, he’s a few years younger than me. And we recently lost our dad in a terrible...accident.” He began, but quickly I succumbed to the pull of the dark abandon of the long overdue need for sleep. I didn’t dream that night.

I woke up the next day, a pounding headache splitting through the side of my head. Wiping the drool off the side of my chin, I looked around. My jacket, which I had thrown on the floor by the door was hung up in the closet alcove with my luggage placed on the rack below it and my shoes collected and arranged on the floor underneath. The bathroom light had been left on to help illuminate the pitch black room if I woke up in the middle of the night, and my keys were on the dresser beside the TV. The door was locked tight. Glancing at the alarm clock to check the time, I noticed a slip of paper lying there beside the lamp with a strange cell phone.

Picking it up I read the few lines of scribbled writing. Dean Winchester, 785-555-0128. I unlocked the phone and disabled the number. Ring...ring...ring...ring...the voicemail picked up. “This is Dean’s other, other cell, so you must know what to do.” After the tone, I spoke.

“Hey Dean, this is Claityn, th-the girl from last night. I assume the cell you left by my bed was an extra you had laying around,” I cleared my throat. “I just wanted to thank you for listening to my problems at the bar, I had no right to unload my shit on you.” I trailed off. “Also...thanks...for raising the bar, you know as far as the male population goes. Well, uh...give me a shout sometime when you’re not busy...bye.” 

It was mid afternoon when I was wandering down the streets of the French Quarter again that the cell phone Dean left behind rang. Pulling it out of my pocket, I saw his name lighting up the screen. “Hello,” I said as a face splitting grin spread across my face.

“Hello, gorgeous,” came the familiar voice from the other end of the line. Dean, I reminded myself, his name is Dean. I could hear the excitement in his voice as he asked, “What are you doing tonight?”

“Not a damn thing,” I replied with a spring in my step and a world of possibilities in front of me. Who knew rumors and a cheating fiancé would lead me here? This was going to be some adventure, I thought to myself.


End file.
